


Vacation week

by Fleur_de_Violette



Series: Whumptober (more like hurt/comfortober-november-december) 2020 [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Ignoring an Injury, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Sickfic, Snow, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fleur_de_Violette/pseuds/Fleur_de_Violette
Summary: Dick had planned on talking about the broken ribs with Alfred. He had planned on taking it easy all week. Really.Whumptober day 30 – Ignoring an injury
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Everyone, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Series: Whumptober (more like hurt/comfortober-november-december) 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984960
Comments: 12
Kudos: 339





	Vacation week

**Author's Note:**

> So. I like timestamps fics. And I think this is something that fits perfectly whump. So, this might not be the last one. That being said. I leave you to the fic, hope you’ll enjoy it. 
> 
> Warning for respiratory distress.

_February 15, 14:18_

Winter vacation. 

It was more about a story about saving the heating money for the gym room, but well. Still. Vacation from his day job. This would give Dick some time to rest. He loved his day job, he really did. He loved teaching, he loved sports. He loved the disparity of the people who came in the center. Kids and adults from different backgrounds, all gathered together, trying their best to put their body at its maximum. He even had a class of sweet grandparents who cared more about having a place to meet than staying in shape. He made them do simple fitness exercise and left with a Tupperware of cookies more often than not. It was their way to thank him. The class wasn’t expensive, even for Blüdhaven, so most of his students probably knew that his paycheck wasn’t high. He didn’t care. It wasn’t like he couldn’t ask Bruce for help, and the center attracted people who didn’t have another safe outlet for their feelings and energy than his sports classes. It was like preventing crime without it even happening. It was amazing. And it was exhausting. 

Of course, it might have been less exhausting if he invested himself less in his students’ lives. Why was Lynda asking for extra self-defense classes? Why didn’t Arthur’s dad get his son at the end of the class like usual last week? Why was Alma so angry last time, lashing out against everything? Either Dick Grayson or Nightwing took care of these, frightening an ex-husband, carefully sliding a Wayne industry job offer (where one wouldn’t have to do extra hours) in a mailbox, and teaching a lesson to some bullies. On top of that, there was still the crimes actively being committed, that his night persona had to take care of. Yeah. The vacation could do him some good. 

As he drove slowly in the snowed roads of Gotham, he tried to remember his last full night of sleep. The fact that he couldn’t made him slightly uneasy. He was the first to scold his siblings and father for not taking proper care of themselves and the first to fall into bad habits every time a case got to him. It was decided. He would take a nap as soon as he reached the manor, where he decided to stay for the week. Then he would ask Alfred to take a look at his chest. The assholes he arrested last night did a number on him and considering how uneasy it was to take a deep breath, he probably had one if not several broken or fractured ribs. There wasn’t much to do about it, but he would still tell his adoptive grandfather. 

Anyway, this week would do him some good, he decided. Rest, spend some time with his family. He couldn’t ask for more. 

_February 15, 15:04_

He was pleased to learn, upon greeting Alfred, that Tim, Steph, Cass and Damian were currently at the manor, in the garden, to be precise. He dropped his stuff in his room and went outside to say hello. The nap could wait until he saw his siblings. 

There was a commotion outside when he approached the group of four.

“What’s going on in here?” He asked. 

“Neither Damian nor Cass ever had a snowball fight!” Answered Stephanie, scandalized. 

Damian scoffed. 

“I don’t see why I would engage in such an inferior form of entertainment.” 

Dick squinted his eyes, exhaustion forgotten for the sheer and primal desire to have some fun. To make Damian have some fun. 

“Oh, really?” he said, quickly gathering some snow in his bare hands to throw it at his youngest brother. Damian stayed in place, blinking for a few seconds after the snowball hit him. He looked like a wet kitten, and Stephanie started laughing loudly.

All hell broke loose after that. 

Damian tackled Steph, who replied by shoving snow at him. Tim and Cass joined the battle happily, and soon, the garden was a mess of flying snowball, Dick right in the middle of it. He didn’t feel tired or hurting at all anymore, the excitement getting to him. 

At some point, Tim froze right in front of him. They were both panting from the exertion, all of them adding unnecessary techniques learned from years as vigilantes into the play-fight.

“Shouldn’t you wear better clothes than that?” asked his younger brother, and Dick realized at that exact moment that he was just in his jacket. He hadn’t planned to spend that much time outside when he got out, hadn’t planned to spend time outside this week at all to be honest. Still, he wasn’t about to stop playing now to get inside. He was having way too much fun. 

“What? Afraid I’m not strong enough handle the cold? Just say you’re scared of taking me and go.” 

Tim must have been as exited as he was, because the provocation worked and in one second, he was tackled to the ground and both of them started wrestling in the snow. 

Duke eventually joined them, full of leftover adrenaline after his day patrol, and they ended up playing for the rest of the afternoon. 

While going back into the manor, taking a hot shower and getting ready for dinner, Dick couldn’t shake the seer joy inside him. He didn’t realize how much he had missed his family. How much he loved them. Even if he wasn’t gone for long, reuniting with them was always amazing. His exhaustion and aching chest were completely forgotten as he talked with his siblings about their days, school, the Wayne Enterprise projects Tim was working on with Harper, the dance show Cass was training for. Witch was why when Damian asked him to go with Batman and Robin on patrol for the night, his mouth formed the word “sure” without him thinking twice about it. 

_February 16, 02:48_

Patrol had been… cold and uneventful. Still, he enjoyed spending time with Damian and Bruce, even if his father wasn’t very talkative, as always. Stakes out in winter were always the worst and even criminals seemed too cold in Gotham to get out in the fresh snow. 

On their way back to the cave, they ran into Red Robin, going home from his own patrol route. He stopped near Dick. 

“While you’re here, could you help me with a case tomorrow morning? I could use a second pair of eyes.”

Bruce send them a glance, as if vexed he wasn’t asked. Dick agreed because he would never say no to Tim asking for help, and put an alarm for the next morning.

_February 16, 6:21_

Dick woke up about an hour before the alarm with a headache and a sore throat. He didn’t know exactly what woke him up. Maybe his body was so used to the lack of sleep that it was waking on its own. The aches were mostly gone after a shower and a tea. He didn’t bother telling Alfred before going to Tim’s. The butler had his morning duties to attempt, and he wouldn’t bother him with what was probably a mild cold.

_February 16, 8:28_

Tim opened the door of his apartments with a yawn, still in his pajamas. 

“I know I said half past eight, but I didn’t expect you to actually be there on time.” 

Dick shrugged. He’d been restless all morning, reading the files Tim had sent him last night to be ready. Looked like resting and doing nothing really wasn’t for him. 

Tim cleaned the messy table and put the papers on it. 

“Anyway, feel free to make yourself at home. I’m taking a shower and then I’m explaining you all of that.” 

Dick nodded and looked at the files. He felt a familiar tickling sensation in his noise and sneezed twice in the crook of his arm. He sniffed.

“Do you have any tissues?” He asked, almost wincing at the weird sound of his voice. 

Tim eyed him suspiciously. 

“Under the sink.” He replied before disappearing into the bathroom. 

_February 16, 11:19_

Dick sneezed, carefully avoiding disturbing the papers in front of him. There were files everywhere now, both him and Tim messy in their way of work. Maybe that was why his little brother hadn’t asked Bruce. To have someone with the same working method was definitely a plus. Dick knew Bruce tended to clean up the things that he had meticulously disorganized in order to study them. There was nothing more annoying. 

He reached for the tissue box, only to find it empty. He gestured toward the sink. 

“Uh, could you…?”

Tim sighed and reached under the sink to pass him another box of tissues. 

“I told you to wear warmer clothes yesterday.” He said, accusingly, once Dick was done. 

Dick opened his mouth to argue, but there was nothing to say. He couldn’t deny getting sick: the sneezing was only getting worse and he felt cold, despite the reasonable heating of Tim’s place. He could argue that it wasn’t necessary from the snowball fight. It might have been from patrol last night, or even before that. He patrolled several times under Blüdhaven’s not quite rain not quite snow either weather last week. He also had parents drop their sick children to his classes, so he took care of them. Some kid might have sneezed on him for all he knew. It might also have simply been from the lack of sleep. But none of these things would be any help against Tim half reproaching, half worried glance. 

Instead, he focused on the paper in front of him, the times where a specific man had been passing in front of one of the security cameras of Gotham. He hadn’t even finished the first page, looking for a link to the other suspects, before he had to turn his head to sneeze again, barely hiding a wince when his already abused chest constricted painfully. He should definitely talk to Alfred about that. 

“Too strong for the cold my ass.” Muttered Tim, standing up. “I’m making tea. Do you want some?”

Dick nodded, grateful. The aches form this morning were bothering him again, accompanied by familiar joint pain. Tea couldn’t hurt. 

_February 16, 17:33_

“If this keeps up, I’m not patrolling tonight.” Said Tim, looking at the window. The wind had picked up, starting what looked like a small snowstorm. 

“Yeah, that would be smart.” Commented Dick from his place on the floor, next to papers and tissues boxes. He’d given up and accepted a blanket on his shoulders, but somehow, he was still cold. “I don’t even think criminals would like to go out with this weather.” 

He turned his head inside his elbow, surprised by the coughing fit. That was new. And painful. So far, he’d mostly sneezed a lot. It was a logic evolution of a cold, but he still wasn’t exactly happy about it. By the look Tim send him, neither was his brother. 

“Do you want to spend the night here?” Asked the younger, eyeing the snow. Dick considered it for a second, before deciding against it. He didn’t want to get Tim sick. To be honest, staying in the same room to work on the case was already too much for his comfort. But he knew Tim would lash out if he told him this. 

“Nah, it’s fine, I’ll drive carefully.”

The younger seemed hurt, but didn’t say anything about it.

“Okay then. Go back to the manor. Let Alfred look at you.”

Dick smiled. 

“I’ll do that.” 

_February 16, 19:45_

The first thing Dick heard upon entering the manor was yelling. He hurried to the place where it was and found a very angry Damian and Bruce. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, big brother instinct taking over whatever sickness and tiredness was upon him. 

“What’s going on is father refusing me the right to patrol tonight.” 

Dick sighed, putting a hand to his brother’s shoulder before Bruce could answer. 

“He’s right, kiddo, the weather is awful, none of us should patrol tonight.” 

Damian’s eyes turned toward Bruce at the words and suddenly Dick felt like the problem wasn’t being benched from patrol at all. 

“None of us.” He repeated, this time looking at his father. 

Bruce sighed. 

“I can’t. There is a drug exchange going on, my chance to intercept a big fish of the underworld.” 

There was no changing his mind. 

Dick closed his eyes. 

Sighed. 

And made a terrible decision. 

“What if I come with you? This way, you’re not alone in that.” Because that had to be what upset Damian. And to be frank, he didn’t like Bruce going out without backup either. 

He planted his eyes in Bruce’s. Trying to look way better than he was feeling. 

“If you say no I’ll sneak out anyway.” He warned. “Alfred can’t look after both Damian and I.” He totally could, especially with Dick being in less than optimal shape. But the bluff seemed to work because Bruce conceded, sighing in defeat.

“Okay. But you’re staying with me.”

_February 17, 00:48_

No plan survives the first encounter with the enemy, so they split up pretty fast. Dick didn’t know if he was grateful or not for that. On one hand, this made the whole thing more stressful, more difficult and more dangerous. On the other, at least he didn’t have to pretend to be fine. The bad guys didn’t care if he doubted over coughing after punching them, only focusing on getting him. He didn’t have to be silent, his role had somehow become distracting their enemies at some point. The storm was actually helping them, hopefully hiding Batman as he gathered information to convict one of the heads of Gotham drug dealing and providing some cover to Nightwing when he was running from the goons he managed to attract toward him. 

Unfortunately, the storm was also a bitch. There wasn’t a part of Dick that wasn’t drenched in snow. He’d fallen several times and the knives-like snowflakes were hurting his exposed skin. He felt as if the cold was inside him, his very bones frozen and yet, he was still sweating, fever and exertion taking their toll. 

He knew, realistically, that going on patrol while sick was a bad idea. That he would be getting worse. He underestimated how worse things would get. Yes, he had a fever and a cough this afternoon, but it was low and manageable. He worked with Tim all day with no problem. Now, he’d lost every hope of catching his breath, low wheeze coming out of his mouth when he wasn’t coughing, and his head was spinning with every step he took. It was sheer adrenaline that kept him upright and running, black spots tainting his vision.

After that, he was definitely resting. 

_February 17, 02:05_

“Nightwing, it’s done, return to the batmobile.” 

Had he had the energy, Dick would have cheered the message. At this point, he was surprised he lasted that long. 

The way back to the batmobile was a blur, until finally, he could lean on the vehicle, waiting for his mentor. 

He coughed, not bothering if Bruce saw him at this point. He wouldn’t be able to hide the wheezing anyway. At the end of the fit, he straightened to take a breath. 

Only to find out he couldn’t. 

Both his hands jumped to his throat and he fell to his knees, panicking. He knew he was bad but the idea of dying here and now hadn’t crossed his mind until that moment. 

Suddenly, there were hands on him, picking him up and laying him down inside the vehicle. 

“Nightwing, I need you to tell me what happened.” 

A panicked voice. Batman. Bruce. Dick let out a small whine, something he hoped was split and not blood dripping from his mouth. He reached out for his dad, for anything to ground him, but all he found was air as Batman moved to the front of the vehicle to start autopilot and radio someone. 

“A, I need…” 

Dick never found out what was needed, darkness claiming him instead. 

_February 17, 21:32_

There was something on his face. Dick moaned and raised his hand to remove it before a small hand squatted it away. He opened his eyes to find Cass, sitting in a chair. 

“Hi.” He said, trying to smile. His voice was weak, even to his own ears. He looked around him. He was on a cot, in the medbay. There was an oxygen mask on his face and an IV on his arm. 

“Hi.” Replied Cass, voice like a murmur. She seemed visibly upset. He wanted to ask how long he was out, and for some water but his voice died in his throat.

“Almost a day” she signed, not needing words to understand him. She then took a deep breath, hands moving fast. “You should have told me. I would have gone on patrol with B.”

“You’re right.” He managed to say, closing his eyes. “You’re right, Cass, I’m sorry.” 

She shook her head and he took her hand, trying to reassure her. After a while, she stood up, replacing his hand on the cot gently. 

“I’m getting Alfred,” she signed “and B. He was upset.” 

And with that, she was gone. 

He didn’t stay alone long, Alfred was soon on him, giving him water and checking on his lungs and fever. He seemed colder and more distant than usual, like he had reproach to do but was waiting until Dick was better. Bruce didn’t seem to have such consideration. He was silent and fuming in the side of the room. Cass was nowhere to be seen which was a shame because Dick would have appreciated the support. 

And then Alfred left, leaving the both of them to tick silence. 

“What happened?” Dick asked, because might as well get this conversation over with. 

“You developed pneumonia due to broken ribs no one apparently knew you had.” His voice was flat, too deprived of emotion to be anything but charged with it, even for Bruce. He raised his voice for the rest of the lecture, “And I have to learn from Tim you’ve been sick all day and told him you would stay home and rest last night.” In his defense, Dick had planned to stay home and rest. Things just hadn’t worked out. “Honestly, when will you learn that…” 

Dick winced at the loud voice, a headache he hadn’t realized he had spiking. Bruce stopped right on his track. Sighed. Sat on the chair next to the bed. Dick let him take his hand. 

“Sorry, chum. You scared me. You can’t do that. You can’t do that again. You can’t ignore sickness or injury. You… For a second I was afraid…” 

Dick squeezed his hand. He knew what Bruce has been afraid of. He’d been afraid of the same thing. It still blindsided him how fast things had gone to hell. Two days ago, he’d been planning for a fun week with his family. 

“Stay?” he asked, squeezing Bruce’s hand again. His father would know what he implied. Do not go on patrol while emotionally compromised. It was hypocrite of him to ask that, but it would be hypocrite of Bruce to refuse. 

Bruce squeezed his hand back, earlier anger apparently forgotten as he pushed a strand of hair out of his face. 

“I’m here. You should sleep.” 

And, despite what some would say, Dick obeyed Bruce more often than not. So, he closed his eyes and let himself drift. 

_February 18, 10:52_

“I’m fine, really. Can’t wait to go upstairs.” 

He wasn’t fine. Alfred had removed the mask and he could see now how much it helped him breath. The IV was staying, and he was feeling dizzy just standing up. But he had enough of the cave. He wanted to be able to see his siblings, even from the couch. The couch he wanted to be horizontal on, right about now. Turn out resting and doing nothing would be on his program apparently, whether he wanted it or not.

Bruce’s hands supporting him, he focused on staying up. He didn’t realize they reached the living room until he was pushed gently on the couch. At this point he was just glad Bruce and Alfred agreed to let him stay here instead of alone in his room. 

Almost immediately after being settled he started dozing off. He was barely aware of the cold rash on his head and neck, and the soothing voices around him.

_February 18, 15:05_

“…didn’t know it was that bad. You know if I did I would never… God, I feel so stupid.” 

Something in the voice forced Dick awake. He raised his hand awkwardly, blindly reaching for Tim. His brother took the offered hand. 

“Timmy. Not your fault.” 

When Tim went to answer, he added. 

“No. Listen. I was an idiot. I did idiot things. I should have told Alfred, or any of you, really, what was going on. I didn’t. That’s on me. Not you. Not Bruce. Do you understand me?” 

Tim nodded, and Dick moved again so he could pet his brother’s hair. 

“Now tell me about your case. Did you crack it?” 

For once, Tim talked, and Dick listened. 

_February 18, 20:14_

There was something warm resting on his abdomen. It took him a second to realize it was Daman, curing up with his pencil and notebook. 

“Pennyworth told me to let you know that he has food ready for you, may you require it.”

His voice was cold and factual, not unlike Bruce the day before. Dick reached toward him. 

“Thank you, kiddo.” 

Damian said nothing, didn’t even look at him. 

“I’ll be fine, you know.” 

No reaction. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

Damian tutted. 

“I know that.” He put his notebook on the ground. “Do you want food or not?”

Dick coughed into the mattress. God, that still hurt. 

“Would you stay with me?” He asked, doing his best interpretation of puppy eyes. That always worked on Bruce. “While I eat. Would you stay?” 

Damian made a petulant sound but stayed until Dick closed his eyes again. 

_February 19, 03:18_

Nights were always the worst. Maybe it was just his imagination, maybe it was the fact that he was back in his room, alone. Maybe it was the fact that he slept all day and now couldn’t bring himself to. 

He had a pager, next to his bed, to call if something was wrong, and nothing was more wrong than yesterday, really. He just felt miserable. Too hot and too cold at the same time, breath painful. Bruce had checked on him when going back from patrol and he pretended to sleep, but now he regretted his decision. He wanted nothing more than to go to the master bedroom, not to be alone in his room, that always seemed too big when he was sick or injured. He felt like these first nights, when the manor was one big cold entity in the wake of his parents’ death. And like these first nights, he knew if he closed his eyes, there would be nightmares. 

But even the small trip from his room to Bruce’s seemed Herculean. 

He curled up, resigning himself for his misery. 

_February 19, 09:02_

Dick was currently watching a documentary on jellyfish with Alfred the cat purring on his lap while Bruce seemed exasperated with a WE official on the phone. It was nice, he decided. Way better than being alone and miserable in his room. Even if he kinda felt like a jellyfish, floating around in a world of fever and painkillers. He had the feeling Bruce wouldn’t like him saying that, so he stayed silent. 

“I’m sure my physical presence isn’t necessary. It’s the twenty-first century, we have tools for that.” Said Bruce on the other side of the room, distracting him from the story of how one drop of a specific jellyfish venom could kill a man in mere seconds. 

“No, I don’t… Look, you know how much I care about this company, but I have a sick kid at home and…” 

Oh, Dick realized. That was him. He was the sick kid. He was why Bruce insisted to remotely go to whatever meeting he was supposed to have. It felt nice, warming his heart, in contrast to the cold feeling of the night. Of course, his body still couldn’t decide whether it was cold or hot, but whatever. 

And then Bruce’s face froze. When he talked, he wasn’t fully Brucie Wayne, head of Wayne Enterprise. Some of the coldness of Batman leaked through.

“I don’t think you have any say in the number of children in my charge.” 

If his father didn’t seem so angry, Dick could have laughed. It was a common joke in Gotham that Bruce Wayne had a ton of kids.

He heard the click of the phone, and Bruce sighed with exasperation before going back next to Dick.

“What are you watching?” he asked, as if the previous conversation didn’t take place. 

“You should go.” Dick said instead of replying. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’m not leaving you alone.” Said Bruce, definitive. Right. Alfred had gone to run some errand in the morning, leaving the two of them in the manor. Damian was at school, and Cass with Barbara.

“Just… call someone?” Proposed Dick. “WE is important, you know that.” 

Bruce stroked his hair. “I’ll think about it. Get some sleep.” 

Dick mumbled something that didn’t make sense even to him and let himself be soothed by the gentle touch and the fact that jellyfish were older than dinosaurs.

_February 19, 09:56_

Dick woke up to a gunfight. It took him a few disoriented seconds to realize that the gunfight was coming from the TV, and that instead of the jellyfish, it was displaying a 3D animated zombie. It took him a few more seconds to notice the controller branched to a gaming console and, on the floor next to the couch, with the controller in his hands, Jason fucking Todd.

Several questions crossed his mind, starting with _Where are my jellyfish? There isn’t a PlayStation in this TV, did you bring your own? _and_ Why are you killing zombies, you’re a zombie? _(He was pretty sure this one wouldn’t be appreciated). But what came out of his mouth was:

“He called you?” fallowed by a harsh cough. 

Jason patted his leg. 

“Nice to see you too, big bird. Who did you want him to call?” 

Dick put a hand in front of his eyes, protecting himself from the aggressive graphics of the game. 

“Uh, I don’t know, Barbara, or Clark even…” But, right. Barbara was with Cass, and Clark was probably working. Still. He hadn’t known Bruce and Jason were even on speaking terms. He sat up slowly, realizing how he sounded. “I’m not complaining, though. It’s good to see you, little wing. Really.” 

Jason cleared his throat, apparently not equipped to handle affection at ten in the morning. Dick watched him play for a while before Jason said, gaze fixed on the screen. 

“I tell you what. If you’re a nice boy and take your meds and eat your soup, I’m gonna call the brood and we’re gonna watch a movie all together tonight. Would you like that?”

Dick let himself fall on the other side of the couch, so that his head was next to his little brother. He reached to mess with his hairs, tangling the white strand with the rest of the dyed black, curly hairs. 

“I would like that, yeah.” 

Maybe this wasn’t the week he had wanted. But it was good anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked the story! Have a nice day!


End file.
